Bundle of GoT Scribbles
by J.Caesar
Summary: So I've turned this into my personal bundle of GoT fan scribbles. Chapters are likely going to be one-shots, but that may change in the future. I wanted to start this earlier so I could do one on every episode of season 7, though I plan to still sort of do that. Since I'm new at writing for GoT, I will need some reviews from you guys to know how I'm doing.
1. S07E04: The Needle and The Sword

_**Hey GoT Fans. Since my first chapter was quite succesful in my eyes, I decided to turn this story into my bundle of GoT fanfiction scribbles. The title will indicate to where you must have seen the series in order not to get any spoilers. Please enjoy my chapters in any order you like.**_

* * *

 _(Hey everyone. I'm knew at contributing to Fanfiction's Game Of Thrones imperium, but I wanted to give it a try. Maybe I'll write more, though that depends on how well a response the chapter gets. So please share your honest opinion with me, so I know whether or not I should try writing another. Kind Regards, J. Caesar)_

* * *

 **S07E04: The Needle and the Sword**

 _*Clang, clung, clang!*_

The harsh sound of colliding metal objects echoed over the stone walls of Winterfell's snowy courtyard. Two people practicing their sword skills was not an uncommon appearance here, nor in any other part of Westeros. The Seven Kingdoms were at war, and when a war raged over the land, there was no telling when the next battle would be. It could just as simply be tomorrow as next month. All that the Northerners knew, was that they ought to be ready when the time came. It was thus that anyone sought to perfect their abilities with the weaponry of their choosing, be it spear, axe, bow and arrow or, as in this case, the sword.

The sparring filled the air with a strange melody, hummed by the steel blades as they scraped over one another. An odd music composed of squealing metal surfaces that rhythmically altered between slams, screeches and silences. The composition was both horrifying and exhilarating as it was a prelude to battles yet to come, as well as victories that lie beyond them. Although seemingly unvarying, one could hear another sound amongst the swords' cries. The strokes were always followed by a damp thud. The reason was one of the two sword bearers hitting the floor.

"Don't Lunge." Brienne lectured her squire.

Podrick Payne had been her squire ever since his former lord, Tyrion Lannister, had been sentenced to death in King's Landing. He was determined to learn how to handle a sword. To study day and night to one day to perhaps become just as great a swordsman as the lady knight he served today. After having asked her to train him and he had agreed, he had promised to exercise with her daily, but for some reason, he never seemed to get any closer to his goal. And continuously tasting the ground with his nose deeply buried in the mud wasn't the way he had imagined his training to transpire. On the other hand, she had warned him it wouldn't be easy.

He gritted his teeth and crawled onto hands and knees. He reached out, grabbed the sword that had fallen besides him and clambered onto his feet. It took him a second to regain balance when he did and in order to mask his rigidity, he pretended to wipe off the earth that soiled his brown leather suit. Brienne had already positioned herself opposite him again, waiting for him to be ready again. He adopted his battle pose and waited for her to do the same. This time, he would go about it differently.

Podrick raised his sword for a first strike, but his opponent deflected it with ease. Since his weight was already moving forward, he used it in order to land a series of strokes to try and breach her defenses. Without the appearance of difficulty, but with an evident history of practice, Brienne continued to parry his attacks, whilst her enemy was tiring. This led her to give up ground, giving Podrick the idea that his actions were having an effect. Unfortunately, he had no clue that Brienne had given him this impression on purpose. Suddenly she dodged his strike and hooked her boot around his exposed right leg, sending the man onto his back for the tenth time that day. He looked up, annoyed by the fact that he was tricked.

"Don't go where your enemy leads you."

Another lesson that, despite giving him a sore behind, could prove life-saving should he get involved in a real battle outside of his training ground. He learned a lot with each day, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the teaching could be given to him in a slightly more gentle fashion.

"Up!" She commanded.

What neither of them realized, was that a guest had emerged on the scene, monitoring them from a distance. Intrigued by the sounds she had heard from afar, it was the commanding voice of Brienne that had truly gotten her attention.

Podrick got up once more, only to be pressed with his face into the soil again when Brienne had gotten the better of him. After another combination of parries, she had finished it off by forcing her sword's pommel in his stomach.

The spectator shivered with anticipation upon seeing the fluency of the knight's movements.

"And don't-"

"Don't fight someone like her in the first place."

Brienne looked up surprised, observing the little person that had examined her as she professed her squire. The young girl was dressed in a seal brown leather jacket with a dark gray underskirt, protruding from underneath. She came walking towards them, automatically placing one hand on the sword that hung on a black belt with an iron buckle. She identified the person as Arya Stark, sister to Sansa Stark, the current Lady of Winterfell and the one she had solemnly sworn to protect. Brienne's sight also went over the thin sword that was clasped in Arya's hand, causing her to fail to withhold a compliment about its finesse.

"Nice sword."

The same thing happened to an even further extend when her eyes met the richly decorated dagger on Arya's other hip.

"Very nice dagger.

The gold lines that curled from the shiny metal pommel down to the cross guard gave away that it was an expensive, first-class weapon. A kind of forgery rarely seen outside the halls of wealthy noblemen. Then again, Arya was part of House Stark. To Brienne's delight, Arya took it out and pressed it into her hand for examination. When she gauged it's balance, sensed its craftsmanship and took notion the ruby inside the handle, she was sure that this dagger was not only made of Valerian Steel, but was probably worth more than her entire outfit combined. With the exception of _Oathkeeper_ , the expensive gift she had received from Jaime Lannister.

After her inspection, she handed the dagger back to its owner, who sheathed it with care. Another trait she approved, respect for equipment suggested dedication to their purpose.

"It's been a while since I trained." Arya said, taking a step back to symbolize her readiness.

"I can go and find the master of arms for you, my lady." Brienne replied reverently.

Arya smiled back.

"He didn't beat The Hound… You did… I want to train with you."

Brienne laughed, happy with the compliment, yet unsure of how to react.

"You swore to serve _both_ my mother's daughters, didn't you?" Arya continued to persuade her.

A brief silence passed. Brienne dug in her memory to recollect the event, eventually finding Arya to be correct. She had promised to protect both of Catelyn Stark's daughters and since Arya was one of those, she couldn't really refuse this request. She nodded and turned to her squire.

"Move aside Podrick." She bade.

The young man, who had been following the conversation silently, took his distance with a sigh. He was pleased to be able to take a break from his falling, but also a little agitated that his training was interrupted. He situated himself by a pile of barrels and other rubble. From there, he could observe it all. He let his pupils analyze the Stark girl and then his mentor. He knew that Brienne wouldn't go as tough as she had on him, however he was curious still as to how this match would play out. The girl exerted a great amount of certainty for someone so fragile, especially in the face of this powerful adversary, towering out above her like a church over a village.

And Podrick was correct. Arya was satisfied that Brienne had agreed to spar with her and was eager to get a chance to measure her skills with the woman that had beat the notorious Hound in single-combat. What she didn't know, was that for every ounce of her enthusiasm, there was an equal amount of anxiety somewhere above her. Her sister, Sansa Stark, gazed down upon the courtyard and drew a concerned expression when she saw her sibling taking up positions against perhaps her most skillful warrior. Next to her stood Petyr Baelish, also known as Littlefinger, whose face, in contrast to Sansa's, read hardly any kind of emotion. Not that this meant that he wasn't overly intrigued by what was about to unfold.

Arya pulled out _Needle_ , a slink, lightweight sword that was her main weapon of choice. What the blade lacked in power it more than made up for in speed and accuracy, the features that befitted her fighting style. It was an elegant weapon with its silver shimmering fuller, leading down to a similarly radiant golden cross-guard. Whereas Arya fully trusted her sword, Brienne was not so convinced of its capabilities.

"You can't use that, my lady, it's too small." Brienne commented.

"I won't cut you. Don't worry." Arya replied, her voice laced with a little arrogance.

Arya knew that Brienne wasn't the first to misjudge _Needle_ 's abilities. And she wouldn't be the last either.

Brienne blinked, stupefied by her opponent's haughty answer. In her opinion, there was no possibility that she could lose to this minuscule weapon. She knew that her experience had taught her not to judge a book by its cover, but she couldn't wrap her head around that tiny thing inflicting any damage. No, Arya's confidence was misplaced and it was up to Brienne to shown her that.

"I'll try not to." She responded sarcastically, clasping the other hand around _Oathkeeper_ 's handle.

For a few seconds they both stood face to face without anything happened at all. Then, Arya let her sword spin around her hand, triggering her foe into action. The attack that came had but a fraction of Brienne's true strength, something Arya had foreseen. She made use of this slow movement to tease her adversary by striking the longsword from below and on top, prior to swiftly thrusting. It ended a few inches from Brienne's face, where it halted and rested in the air. This close, Brienne could see how sharp the tip of _Needle_ truly was and how the grooves went down in a perfect straight line down to the hand that wielded it. She had been caught off guard by the girl's agility.

Arya tugged in her sword and with two beautifully fluent circles of its point, brought it to rest behind her back. A position where Brienne could not see it and therefore would not know on which side it would pop up. The astonishment in the tall lady's eyes made her smirk widen a little.

It was only a little, but enough for Brienne to notice it. Maybe she had held back too much. She felt it time to kick it up a notch and raised her weapon for a more powerful attack. She let it come down harder and faster this time, though it was still not enough to catch the slippery Stark.

After dodging the first strike, Brienne's attack turned to a series of sword swings, forcing Arya into a dance that brought back old memories. _Waterdancing,_ the technique taught to her by her first teacher, Syrio Forel. Evading the increasingly fierce attacks of her foe, she reckoned that like him, she was fond of dueling. The memory almost made her forget that she was sparring with someone.

With a small flick of her smallsword, she bent the next incoming attack just enough so that her lithe body could do the rest.

She noted that every of the knight's large swings was succeeded by a brief moment of imbalance. It was a tiny detail, yet with enough experience, details like those stand out. Arya used it to suddenly turn the tables and launch a flurry of lunges. Brienne could barely parry the array of attacks that came out of nowhere. Not only were they like as rapid as a lashing snake, her thrusts were equally precise and painful. The latter she learned from the final attack that hit her hand, making her withdraw said hand in an automated response to the abrupt pain. This exposed her leg, where she was gently tapped. In real life, _Needle_ could've sliced her leg at this point.

This meant the second win for Arya.

Podrick, who had been watching the scene, was impressed by the expertise of this small girl. Her appearance had completely thrown him off. That was a feature that might work just as well in her favor, as her fleet of foot. He had never thought she'd be that quick. He wondered when or even if his mentor would gain the upper hand. And he was not the only one. Sansa stared down amazed by her sister's swiftness and grace in the art of the sword. She was so different from the last time Sansa had seen her and it frightened her a bit. Next to her, Littefinger silently enjoyed the show. What he saw, was a something few people knew. And if there was anything he liked more than being with Sansa, it was obtaining useful, rare knowledge.

All of Brienne's face now read that she was done playing nice. While taking a short breather, she reconsidered her plan of action. Then she struck again with even more ferocity and even sharper angles than the last time, albeit Arya still led their 'dance'. Her nimbleness allowed her to keep eluding every move, leading up to the point where she was able to land a third successful hit on Brienne.

That fired the woman up so heavily, she started to swing the longsword as if her life depended on it, slamming it into the ground. The ground shot tremors over the steel, posing a painful feeling, but in no way did they incapacitate her maneuvers. In an instant, she already had the sword back up in the air, waving like a berserker. She fenced Arya's moves and got so caught up in the heat of battle that she forgot for a moment she was sparring with a youngster.

She dealt a firm and unexpected kick right onto Arya's chest, sending the girl on her back, gasping for air.

A panic rose inside her. She had sensed the force she had put behind her foot and it had been far from a gentle nudge. For a moment she feared to have severely injured her lady's little sister. However, before she had a chance to express any concern, the limber little warrior swayed her legs around in a circle and jumped right back onto her feet, readopting a fighting stance. The lively face indicated that she was more than capable of resuming their match. It dawned on Brienne that in this girl, she had found a skilled and enduring adversary. She didn't have to hold back.

Right. Above. Right. Left.

The blows continued as Brienne forced Arya back. They both panted as their duel lengthened and the metal screamed louder with every parry. _Needle_ and _Oathkeeper_ had never met each other in battle before, yet in these few minutes they had already touched each other more than a married couple.

Left. Front. Left. Above.

Every sound gave Sansa a small scare, whereas it induced a grin below Littefinger's mustache as he nodded entertained. It was a true spectacle to him as the two women fought more intensely than he had seen most men do. To think they were only sparring right now. Sansa's little sister had become a person to reckon with.

Meanwhile Arya was with her back to a brazier and had no choice than to lunge at an opening in Brienne's defenses. The move had been calculated for and was parried by the knight and was immediately tailed by a strong smack onto the fuller. This lost Arya her sword as the force of the blow sent _Needle_ down into the wet mud and she had to use her hands to deflected the strike that Brienne had already in store for her afterwards.

Their eyes met, causing a brief moment of inertness. With Arya disarmed, Brienne figured it to be over, though Arya's expression still read no signs of surrender. This spurred the lady knight into action again. Arya bent back to avoid getting struck, simultaneously drawing her dagger with her right hand. Brienne saw it happen and quickly seized said hand, raising her sword. What she failed to account for in time however, was that her opponent had switched the dagger to the other hand and precisely when Brienne presented _Oathkeeper_ 's point to Arya, Arya's Valerian dagger glimmered in front of Brienne. This resulted the match to end in a draw, leaving both contesters with a satisfied smile on their faces despite their heavy breathing.

Brienne lowered her sword and looked the young girl over. What a fight she had put up. She had gained a great amount of respect for this Stark sister, especially after that final trick she pulled. Arya sheathed the dagger.

"Who taught you how to do that?" Brienne asked genuinely intrigued.

Arya thought back of her Braavosi teacher and smiled.

"No-one."

An answer that left all in complete awe of her self-education, except Arya herself. But that was just the way her old teacher had wanted it and frankly... she didn't mind it either.


	2. S07E05: Fire meets Ice

_**Hey all. Since my last one-shot got quite some attention, I'd love to write some more GoT stuff, and here is another.**_ _ ** _ **I know that I'm slightly late with this, but I had no time to finish it sooner.**_**_ _ **Season finale was great btw. Already looking forward to next season, but then again, who doesn't?  
**_

 _ **Once more: title indicates the point to where you must have seen the series if you don't want any spoilers. Please Greyjoy... Uhm, I mean: enjoy.  
**_

* * *

 **S07E05: Fire Meets Ice**

The wind blew harsh and enduringly on the cliffs of Dragonstone. Jon Snow's cloak flicked like a whip as it suffered nature's raw power. Though even with all its brutal strength, it could not subdue the northerner. For these gusts could never be as cold as the freezing breath that had welcomed him each time he had stood atop The Wall. He remembered those times all too well; even after his descend, it had felt like his face would never get warm again. No, in comparison to that, the maritime breeze here was nothing than a gentle stroke across his cheeks.

Jon made his, by now usual, round over the island, from the castle down to beach and back. Bound to stay on the island, he had no choice other than to walk around and contemplate the problems that needed to be overcome. He had to stop the Night King and his increasingly large army of Wights. Although having been granted permission to mine Obsidian from the nearby caves, the north alone still didn't have the manpower that was necessary to defend mankind against the legions of undead that were marching to The Wall. But in order to get more men, he had to persuade the other rulers of Westeros, Cersei and Daenerys, to agree to a peace treaty and aid in this battle. And to get that done, he first had to convince both these Queens that such an army even existed.

This was perhaps the hardest task. How could he get someone to believe in the living dead without them having seen it themselves? If only there was a way to show them that the Night King was real and not a fantasy. That he was the greatest threat that mankind had faced thus far, instead of a mere bedtime story to frighten little children. Sadly he couldn't think of one. Thus he had to persuade two women – that were already suspicious since they waged war against each other – to settle their differences because of a mythical horde of zombie warriors coming for Westeros. And if there was anything his father had taught him about women, it was not to intervene when they were fighting.

He halted atop one of the many cliffs and peered out into the distance. Dragonstone, despite being closer to King's Landing than Winterfell, almost seemed further away due to the vast amount of water that lay between it and the main land, stretching out to all horizons and beyond.

Staying here could be considered both a blessing and a curse. The flat blue walls that imprisoned the islanders upheld an impression of seclusion that was strong enough to give you the idea that you could escape the problems of the world. But Jon was never one to forget a problem easily, therefore the isolation was maddening. Although his strategy to defeat the Night King needed some pondering, it was evident that being kept here, was not helping him come up with improvements.

He stared down into the dark mass below, hoping that somehow the sea would shout out an answer to him. That it would break its pattern of trashing the rocks with its turbulent waves and present a possibility to save humanity from the imminent darkness.

His stare was broken by a strange sound. Albeit hard to hear amongst the noise of the roiling waters beneath, it was distinguishable because it was something different. A faint screech that could only indicate one thing. His eyes scoured the sky for that which his ears already knew was headed his way. After a brief moment, his pupils locked onto the small, dark silhouette with wings. It was tiny still, yet grew quickly as it made its way towards the island.

Jon walked slowly to the end of the cliff, yet before he reached it, the huge dragon was already close by. Its cry echoed against the rocky shoreline as it recognized its destination. The skin of its wings tremored as they tamed the winds that held the animal airborne, whilst the tail made circular moves in order for the body to maintain a straight course. The head was the only thing that remained unwavering as its eyes were fixated on the path that lie ahead. Its wings were in fact so massive and powerful, that every stroke displaced enough air for Jon to feel the zephyrs of the dragon flying overhead. The horrors that the dragon's aggressive attitude and fiery breath could unleash were temporarily buried under the majesty of its shape and flight. It was like a glance in the past, to the time when these creatures still dominated the world from their kingdom in the heavens. For the moment, Jon could only sense admiration.

Unfortunately, as he had been staring, Jon noticed a little late that the animal in question had chosen to land not far from him, its thick claws sinking deep into the grassy earth. Worse yet, it made its way over to him.

The fact that mobility and grace had gone to waste after the beast's touchdown, were things Jon hardly had eyes for. The enormity suddenly began charging towards him and it froze him up with anxiety. It unleashed an ear-puncturing scream as it opened its jaws, showing its with saliva covered teeth. The four inch long daggers and blood-stained tongue were likely the last thing many men had seen before their journey on this world had come to an end. As it rose up high above the King of Winterfell, its volume, size and reputation, had him overcome by fear. Although it was unlikely that Daenerys would allow her 'child' to attack him, his subconscious wasn't as convinced as his sense of reason. His eyes shot left and right as he decided which way to run.

Suddenly, a voice resounded in his head.

' _Hold your ground, Jon.'_

He remembered that line. It was something his father had said to him when they first encountered a wolf. Like then, he had felt an irrepressible urge to make a run for safety. To run back to Winterfell and lock the door. It had been his father who had told him otherwise. Not giving up territory was vital when facing a wolf. Because if you did, you acted like prey. And if you acted like prey, you'd become the prey. Stare right back, and you weren't prey. You were an equal.

But the sole reason Jon had managed to maintain his nerves back then, had been because his father had placed a hand on his shoulder. Now it was up to him alone to suppress his anxiety. To stand his ground against something that was ten times bigger than a wolf… ten times bigger ten him…

' _Hold your ground, Jon.'_

Jon thought about the line that kept being repeated by his memory. Although this monster was definitely not a Dire Wolf, it dawned on him that the situation was maybe not so different as he originally assumed. If it had wanted to kill him, it could already have done so. This was an act intimidation, meant to test Jon's strength and confidence. Like with the wolf, if he'd stay put, he might be able to earn the animal's respect. Also, if he ran now, what would Daenerys think of him? She would never help him fight the Night King if he cowered like a turtle. No, he had to maintain his position. However the stories of Old Nan about dragons being the most dangerous creature ever to have roamed the earth, gnawed on his subconscious, keeping it on edge and making him quiver from head to toe.

Luckily, the black-scaled beast ceased its vocal intimidation. This allowed Jon to regain enough calm to determine that this was Drogon, the largest of Daenerys' reptilian offspring. However the moment was less than brief since Drogon in turn was equally curious to find out who _he_ was. Or so he thought. The problem was, that there was no way for him to discern curiosity from hostility. Drogon had a natural expression of anger written over him and Jon had no idea what features to look for to read the emotional state of the giant in front of him. And as Drogon's face drew closer with every second, Jon couldn't keep himself from trembling even more.

He had never been this close to any of the dragons, let alone establish contact with them. And as they probably saw Daenerys as much a relative as she saw them, it was logical that they were interested to know who she had been talking with for the past days.

Like all animals, dragon too communicated a great deal through smell. But since Jon was so unsure of what was to come, every of Drogon's sniffs made a greater portion of Jon's blood retract from his feet. The head was only an arm's length away. The dark slits within the orange irises watched him carefully, taking in every detail. It was easy for Jon to count every spine that wreathed the large skull, yet all he could see were the bared teeth. They curved out of the jaws, each with a different angle, yet altogether forming a straight line of spikes that barricaded the inside of the mouth by interlocking perfectly. Unlike many other reptiles, Drogon's teeth were not serrated, but smooth with viciously sharp points and their roots buried deep in the gums. They were excellent for exerting high amounts of force to crush flesh and bone… probably armor as well.

From Drogon's back, Daenerys could not see what was happening. She knew that she had pulled on the spines to keep her child from tearing into her newfound ally, yet was astonished by how quickly he had reacted. As if he had never had the intention of attacking Jon Snow, even though she knew that none of her dragons took kind to strangers that wandered within range of their jaws. What annoyed her, was that she could not look past Drogon's massive neck and head and was therefore unaware of what played out between Jon and her eldest.

As seconds passed without anything happening, Jon caught himself thinking of something that was so absurd that he hadn't thought he could come up with it on his own. Or maybe it was not so idiotic. Deep down, he had a strong feeling that Drogon's actions demanded a response. Maybe the warm wind of the south had corroded his brains or maybe it was just the adrenaline that clouded his rationality. Either way, he couldn't resist carrying out the crazy idea that had just formed in his head. He _had_ to give it a try.

He pulled his left glove from his hand and carefully extended his hand. His heartrate rose to precarious heights as he reached closer and closer to Drogon's crushing maw. Apparently, Jon's weird idea of Drogon insisting on a reaction was not that farfetched after all. The animal did another step towards him, bringing its nose even closer to him. In addition, the fact that he hadn't lost his hand – or more realistically, his entire arm – gave him the courage to go even further. His hand was shaking like a leaf as it approached the glistening fangs, yet maintained its small momentum forward.

Suddenly Drogon started growling and Jon's heart stopped. He hesitated. Maybe he ought to abandon his course of action and be happy to have survived the encounter rather than pushing his luck. But then Drogon's lips covered his gums, his rumbling faded and he bend a little forward. It gave Jon the last bit of confidence he needed. He did a small step forward and placed his hand on the scaly muzzle.

To his surprise, the dragon's hide was not at all what he had expected. In his mind, it had been rough like sandpaper and rigid as wood. The skin was actually smooth and pliant like leather, albeit more dented than usual. Stroking the animal, he could feel its warmth, its heartrate, its life. Drogon emitted a soft rumbling sound. Jon looked up into the citrine eyes at the end of the long skull. They stared back at him kindly, quite the opposite of what he had seen before. As if the big eyes welcoming him like a long lost friend. As he continued to caress Drogon's nose, he sensed a sort of mutual understanding with the beast. A primordial connection that he had only ever experienced with Ghost. It was almost as if he was permitted entry to Drogon's mind, exchanging thoughts, feelings, even the smallest figments of the brain.

And as much as the eyes gave, they took back from Jon himself. The eyes seemed to know what troubled him, what burden he was carrying, what perils he had seen in his life... or in his death. They stared back with compassion. It was at that moment, Jon reckoned that just as he was reading its mind, the dragon read his. It reminded him of the connection Daenerys had spoken of while describing her relationship with them. And in that split-second that his focus had dulled, the moment of intertwinement with this magnificent creature slipped away.

Jon lowered his hand.

He tried to fathom what had happened. How could he form such a strong connection with a dragon? He was a Stark, a northerner, born from ice, born from snow, a bastard no less! Dragons were pureblooded creatures of fire and flight; they ought to be his more like his counterpart if anything at all to him. Why was it, that Drogon's eyes had radiated so much familiarity.

He looked up as Daenerys stepped from Drogon's back. She had seen how they had interacted and smiled proudly as she treaded towards him. He donned his glove, trying to avoid her shimmering eyes. Meanwhile Drogon took off with a screeching goodbye. Despite Jon still having difficulties trying to believe what had befallen him, he knew that he would never forget this moment. The sensation that the dragon's eyes had awoken in him had been indescribably beautiful. He had felt like the little boy again, with his father after the encounter with the wolf. Filled with pride, amazement and exhilaration.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?" Daenerys said.

He wanted to agree with her. Tell her all about the experience, about the sensation that the dragon had awoken within him. However, something whispered to him that it was best to keep it all to himself. To cherish, not brag about it. So instead, he chose to produce a mild reply with a slight taste of humor.

"Wasn't the word I was thinking of, but…"

The joyful flames that had burnt in Daenerys' eyes were extinguished in a second by his attempted joke. Jon quickly reformulated his answer to avoid a negative influence on their future alliance.

"But yes. They are. Gorgeous beasts."


End file.
